


Too Beautiful For Words

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2431427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well nothing really graphic but yes, once again it’s what I’m beginning to call my d'Art in distress stories (just think *damsel* and you get the picture). I can't help myself, he's just too darn nice looking (hee hee). Would be interesting if in the 2nd season they'd have the boy get kidnapped by slavers. Wouldn't Porthos have a fit, eh?</p><p>++++</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Beautiful For Words

*Royal Palace*

Holding one of their grand balls again, the palace was filled to the brim with visitors. Two of their Majesty’s guests were highly interested in one of the Musketeers on guard duty this night.

On outward appearances, Comte Victor Moreau and his lovely wife Isabella seemed your typical aristocratic couple, but behind closed doors there was another more sinister aspect to their lives. And right now it was that particular aspect that had both of them focused on d'Artagnan.

"What a beautiful young man," Isabella's pretty features literally ate up the youth's olive-toned complexion.

"Quite so, my dear." Comte Moreau's keen eye had zeroed in on the young Musketeer almost immediately. "He'd make a tasty morsel to appease our appetites."

"Mmmmm," Isabella purred. "How shall we proceed, my love?"

"Carefully," he whispered in her shell-like ear. "After all he is a Musketeer."

"Yes," she glanced around the room and made a face. "They're all over the palace ballroom like insects," Isabella reflected distastefully.

"Let us wait and bide our time." The comte's eyes darkened with desire as he observed the boy talking to his captain. He greedily took in the slim build and handsome face of the youth. "We will wait to make our move before we depart tonight."

"Whatever you feel is best, Victor," Isabella fluttered her long lashes at her husband.

"Turn that on the boy and you'll have him eating out of your hands."

"We shall see," Isabella's eyes sparkled with devilment, "we shall see."

++++

"I hate this part," d'Artagnan groaned to Aramis who stood beside him taking in all the latest fashion statements. He had tried to talk to Treville about assigning him elsewhere but to no avail.

"It's part of our duty in being a Musketeer." Aramis nudged the youngster in the shoulder. "I don't think much of what the women are wearing these days."

"Why? Because most of the ladies present are nearly covered up to their necks and you can’t get a glimpse of their cleavage," d'Artagnan snorted, to which Aramis cuffed him gently on the back of his head.

"You know this d'Artagnan apprentice stuff's got to end soon or I'll have brain damage."

"As long as you're one of us it'll never end," Aramis grinned and then something caught his attention. "I believe Athos may be in trouble."

Hand immediately going to his sword, d'Artagnan heard Aramis's quiet laughter beside him. 

"Not that kind of trouble," Aramis pointed to where Athos and Porthos were stationed. "I swear lady Simone is determined to snare Athos as husband number four."

"Four!" D'Artagnan looked at his friend to see if he were jesting but one glance at Aramis's face gave him his answer. Aramis subtly pointed at an attractive older woman conversing with Athos. D'Artagnan thought that his mentor could do worse, especially after Milady.

"Yes, she's buried three now," Aramis commented casually. Wondering if he should go over and rescue his comrade.

"Does she go after Athos on a regular basis then?" D’Artagnan could visualize Athos running in the other direction if lady Simone came calling.

"Her opportunities are limited. She usually only runs into him at these type of affairs."

"Poor man," d'Artagnan grinned as Athos caught his amusement and fiercely glared back at him.

"Now I say that's a nice looking pair," Aramis's noticed the newcomers at once. "I don't recognize either of them."

"Never been here before?" d'Artagnan questioned.

"I don't believe they have. I certainly would have remembered her." Aramis was instantly intrigued by how lovely the man's companion was. Automatically he wondered if she were his wife. Romantic trysts are less complicated that way.

"She's probably married to him," d'Artagnan needlessly reminded Aramis. Knowing how his friend’s mind worked in the presence of a lovely woman. "Then again when has that ever stopped you."

"D'Artagnan," Aramis pretended shock as he glanced at the youngster. "You wound me greatly!"

"I doubt that very much," d'Artagnan commented dryly.

++++

“Oh the boy’s just too beautiful for words,” Isabella remarked for the third time to her husband.

“I gathered that from earlier,” Victor responded wryly. “This ball can’t end soon enough for either of us,” he kept his eye on where the young Musketeer was at all times so as not to lose him in the crowd of guests milling about. “My hands have been eager to run down that body ever since I laid eyes on him.”

“What delightful bed sport we both shall have later,” Isabella laughed gayly.

“Control yourself, my dear,” Victor’s eyes flashed briefly, “the night’s still young.”

“And so is he,” she giggled like a little girl.

++++

“Captain Treville has just informed me that the ball will end soon.” Athos strode over to speak briefly to his two bored friends. “D’Artagnan! Don’t you dare yawn!”

“Who me?” d’Artagnan stifled his yawn that threatened to upset Athos so. “You should worry more about Aramis staying awake. He turned in quite late last night.”

“Tattle tale,” Aramis scowled as Athos targeted him with a disgusted look.

Turning around and walking away, Athos could be heard muttering, “Why do I bother?”

++++

*Late evening*

The ball finally came to a close as the crowd of guests finally dispersed. The Moreaus noticed the young Musketeer stood by himself for once as guests passed him by on their way out of the palace. 

“Now, Victor, let us make our move,” Isabella said in a hushed whisper.

Slowly making their way over to where d’Artagnan was stationed the Moreaus approached him.

“Young man,” Isabella simpered demurely, “Would you be so kind as to make sure our carriage is outside awaiting us?”

Knowing that was not part of his usual duties at these functions, d’Artagnan nevertheless agreed. He did not want to upset any of the king’s guests for fear it would get back to his Majesty. Noticing the man hovering behind the woman d’Artagnan wasn’t quite sure how to address her. “Your names please, Mademoiselle or is it Madame?”

“Oh,” she batted her lashes at him in a coquettish manner, “this is my husband, Comte Victor Moreau.”

Bowing his head in acknowledgment of their status, d’Artagnan was glad he had agreed to get their carriage. “Then, Madame, I will go forth now to see to it.”

++++

It did not take d’Artagnan long to locate the Moreau’s carriage and inform it’s coachman that the Moreau’s were leaving. So as the carriage pulled up in front of the palace d’Artagnan held open the door for them and helped Mrs. Moreau step inside. 

When it came time for the comte’s turn d’Artagnan found the man had somehow gotten behind him. Suddenly he felt a painful stinging sensation on the side of his neck. Immediately a bout of dizziness assailed him and then d’Artagnan felt himself begin to stumble as he tried to gain his footing.

“Are you not well?” Comte Moreau asked, knowing precisely the reason behind the Musketeer’s problem.

“I… I’m…” d’Artagnan couldn’t utter the words as he felt himself blacking out.

As the youngster fell, Comte Moreau caught him easily in his arms. Looking about him he didn’t see anyone near their coach as his wife helped him put the youth inside their carriage.

++++

*Back inside the palace*

“Has anyone seen where d’Artagnan’s got off too?” Athos had been looking for him for the past fifteen minutes or so.

“No one’s seen the lad since he went to get a carriage for the Moreaus.” Porthos had gotten that information from Rene who had been stationed near the exit.

“That’s not something we usually do,” Aramis was surprised.

“Apparently they asked him specifically to do it,” Porthos said. He was puzzled as well since there were others working here that were assigned those tasks.

“What’s up, gents?” Captain Treville joined them and could tell at once something was bothering the trio.

“D’Artagnan’s upped and disappeared on us. Last anyone’s seen em’ he was gettin’ a carriage for Comte Moreau and his wife,” Porthos repeated his explanation again.

“Mon dieu!” Treville’s eyes widened in alarm. “I was so busy with King Louis and Rochefort over matters of politics that I didn’t notice they were invited.” He was very worried. “Did you say d’Artagnan was asked to get their carriage?”

“Yes,” Athos started to have a very bad feeling as he noticed his captain’s concern. “What do you know of this couple?”

“Too much,” Treville slapped his hat against his leg in anger. “If d’Artagnan is not yet back, and we know he wouldn’t leave his post without a good reason, then they have him.”

“What the deuce do you mean by that?” Athos growled in anger.

“Rumors abound about the Moreau’s peculiar appetites in regards to the very young and beautiful,” Treville’s voice lowered for fear of the king or queen hearing him. “Grant you they're usually more discreet about their activities. This though goes beyond the pale.”

“You feel they have our youngest?” Porthos asked in outrage.

“I fear the worst, gentlemen,” Treville snapped. “I will find out where they are staying and pray you get there before they can play any of their sick games on d’Artagnan.”

“This may end badly,” Aramis murmured as he made the sign of the cross.

“But not for d’Artagnan if I have anything to say on the matter!” Athos’s hand automatically went to his pistol tucked into his weapon’s belt. Seeing Treville heading back toward them his hand dropped.

“Queen Anne said that the comte’s wife earlier told her that they were staying at the Wild Lady Inn,” Treville noted Aramis’s smirk. “Something to say, Aramis?”

“If as you say the couple are known to have a wild nature the inn they chose suits them well,” Aramis noted the set faces of his two brothers. If anything were to happen to their youngest there would be hell to pay. “I know where it’s located.”

“Of course *you* would,” Athos remarked dryly.

“It’s not what you think, Athos,” Aramis clucked. “Anyway it’s not quite an hour’s ride outside of Paris.”

“Then let’s not waste anymore time!” Porthos barked. He was ready to tear the couple in two if they hurt d’Artagnan in any way.

“Men, whatever happens you can not harm the Moreaus.” Treville didn’t know if his words penetrated their thick skulls or not. He better have a good cover story prepared for their Majesty's just in case.

“We shall restrain ourselves as much as humanly possible from that possibility, Captain,” was Athos’s clipped response. “Aramis, Porthos... Allons-y!”

++++

*Wild Lady Inn*

Waking up in a stupor, d’Artagnan took in his hazy surroundings. He knew he wasn’t in the palace any longer judging by the looks of the room he found himself in. He wondered how he ended up here. His head was killing him and whenever he tried to turn it even slightly he felt like throwing up. D’Artagnan’s neck stung as well but from what he didn’t know.

A man and a woman walked into the room then and d’Artagnan vaguely remembered them from earlier at the palace. His mind was really very fuzzy but some memories were coming back. What he was confused about was the way those two looked at him. Like they were starving. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation and he wished he felt better so he could walk out of here. 

But walking wouldn’t be happening anytime soon as he realized that he was bound to the bed. His arms were outstretched and tied to the bedposts, likewise his legs. Oh this was not good he thought. And he had to wonder how he always seemed to end up in these type of situations. D’Artagnan was sure that later Athos would give him another lecture on it.

“Darling, he’s finally come around.”

“So he has,” Victor chuckled as he leaned down to place a soft kiss on the boy’s lips.

Drawing back from the contact before that mouth touched his own, d’Artagnan tried to remember what this man’s name was. “What’s going on? Why am I here?” Though he could guess at the latter which made his question pretty damn stupid.

“Oh my, pretty one,” Isabella cooed. “We’re simply going to have so much fun with you.”

“I feel sick,” d’Artagnan moaned and wished he could throw up on them.

“Victor, I think you gave him too much,” Isabella scolded as her delicate eyebrows arched.

“No more than usual was in that syringe,” Victor scowled. “Perhaps the boy is sensitive to it.”

“We still can enjoy him though,” Isabella purred contentedly.

‘The fun starts now.” Victor undressed and Isabella followed his example. Discarding their clothes on the floor. They then proceeded to divest the youngster of most of his clothing, leaving him in only his smalls.

Skimming her fingertips over the boy’s taunt stomach, Isabella licked her lips. Her tongue began to trace and lap at his nipples which peaked at her ministrations. She nipped and bit until the young man moaned in response.

As Isabella worked on one side of the youngster, Victor did likewise on the other. Then he reached over to the night stand and grabbed a glass of water. Lifting the boy’s head slightly he made him sip it. “Take it slowly now,” he watched as the young man swallowed the contents. “That’s it. Good, boy.”

D’Artagnan’s throat was parched and the cool liquid felt soothing as it slid down. Unfortunately for him the water was drugged. Between the combination of the two drugs in his system d’Artagnan was rendered pretty much insensible at that point.

The drug administered to d’Artagnan was known to make a person pliant and easily manipulated. So the Moreaus were free to do whatever they wished with him. Any struggles on his part against his restraints were more or less futile.

Turning d’Artagnan’s face toward her own, Isabella began kissing him quite passionately on the lips. Then her husband took his turn. They kept this up until the boy began to respond wildly.

D’Artagnan’s body was being stimulated from both sides non-stop now. Arching his back, bucking beneath their manipulations and not being able to touch them in turn was frustrating him beyond imagination. If his hands had been freed d’Artagnan would have ripped off the only piece of covering he had left on.

Feeling the couple’s hands beginning to touch his most private parts, d’Artagnan’s struggles renewed in earnest and that’s when the door burst open. Between the shattered door, sounds of shouting and someone in the background ferociously swearing, d’Artagnan didn’t know whether to feel relieved or scared. 

The pounding in his skull made thinking very hard to do and he couldn’t be sure, but d’Artagnan thought those voices were familiar to him. In the end with his head feeling about to burst, he really didn’t care who came to his rescue. D’Artagnan actually wished they would go away since they were contributing to his aching head even more.

Feeling Isabella and Victor being torn viciously from his side, gentler hands took their place. D’Artagnan didn’t know what to think or feel anymore. Vision blurred from the drugs, d’Artagnan thought it was Aramis by his side trying to calm his body down. 

“Aramis, how is he?” Athos promised Treville no harm would come to this pair but he was very close to breaking that vow after he saw the condition d’Artagnan was in.

“I checked his pupils and they are overlarge,” Aramis clucked as he noticed the reddened area where it seemed something sharp like a needle had penetrated the skin of d’Artagnan’s neck. “He was definitely drugged.”

Picking up the nearly empty glass of water on the night stand Porthos sniffed at it. “This don’t smell right.”

“Give it to me,” Aramis demanded sharply as he held out his hand. After Porthos did he sniffed at the contents. “Mon dieu! No wonder our pup doesn’t know which way is up! They drugged the water as well!”

Athos grimly watched d’Artagnan’s head twist from side to side while sweat poured from his body. “Aramis?”

“D’Artagnan’s having a bad reaction I think from the combination of drugs that were administered,” Aramis snapped sending the Moreaus, who were still both naked and struggling against Porthos’s strong hold, a deadly look.

Swiftly turning to face the vile couple, Athos’s fist clenched and unclenched. He wanted badly to beat Comte Moreau to a pulp. Even though a woman, Athos felt the need to do her an injury as well. But he had to remember Treville’s words. “Cover them up!” he ordered harshly to Porthos. “They disgust me!”

“We bringin’ them to the captain straight away?” Porthos knew what he really wanted to do with this trash and it was all they deserved. “Cause from where I’m standin’ the Bastille’s too good for the likes of them.”

“I hear you, Porthos and I agree but I told Treville we wouldn’t cause them bodily harm,” glancing at their youngest he clearly was of two minds now. “Our main concern at the moment is d’Artagnan’s care.”

“Athos, our poor lad’s very sick.” Aramis ran a hand through his own mussed up hair in frustration. He wanted to run his sword through both the Moreaus for this night’s work. “Are they going to get away with this?”

“Forget about that for now. Is it safe to move him?” Athos wanted to hold the boy close and tell him everything was going to be all right but didn’t think it would register in the state d’Artagnan was in.

“Whether it is or not we have to bring our young one home,” Aramis frowned in concern as d’Artagnan suddenly went lax. “Non! Non! Non! Don’t do this!” He began shaking the boy in earnest.

“What’s wrong?” Athos instantly dropped to his knees by the bed.

“He’s not breathing,” Aramis began chest compressions desperately trying to bring d’Artagnan back. Finally the youngster began coughing, coming back to life and Aramis tried to sit him upright though the boy was utterly spent. He asked Athos to tuck some blankets around him as they couldn’t seem to find d’Artagnan’s clothes anywhere. Aramis glanced over at an anxious Porthos who hovered nearby.

“Porthos we have to get d’Artagnan home immediately. Why don’t you carry him out to where our horses are and he’ll ride with me. This way I’ll know if something else goes wrong with the lad.”

“Fine by me.” But when Porthos gently lifted d’Artagnan into his strong arms their youngest started to thrash about. He tried to sooth the child with soft words which seemed to do the trick for the moment. Walking outside Porthos thought that perhaps the fresh air would be good for the boy.

Dragging the Moreaus outside, Athos waited until he saw d’Artagnan safely settled into Aramis’s care. Belle started to dance about slightly as she got used to the extra weight.

Mounting Roulette, Porthos glared at the comte and his wife who were huddled together apparently shocked they had been caught. Athos had a firm grip on them but the large Musketeer worried what his friend would do to them. Silently conveying to Aramis just with a nod in Athos’s direction, Porthos frowned.

“Uh, Athos, coming?” Aramis held tight to d’Artagnan so the boy wouldn’t slip out of his arms. He hardly weighed anything at all. They really needed to do something about fattening him up. Concentrating back on Athos, he worried greatly why the man hadn’t answered him. “Going back on your word to Treville? Remember you can’t kill them or you’ll be hanged for it.” He decided not to be subtle since subtle never worked with Athos anyway.

“They could simply disappear,” Athos snarled.

“Treville would know,” Porthos added even though he agreed one hundred percent with the sentiment.

“Do not worry so. I’ll stuff them into their carriage and tie them up to be delivered to the Bastille. I’ll make sure of it personally,” Athos glanced up at their still insensible boy and held in his temper. “Get him home!”

++++

*Musketeer garrison, infirmary*

“Mon dieu! The poor lad!” Treville was shocked as he observed the condition d’Artagnan was in. “Will he be well, Aramis?”

“With my care, I hope so,” Aramis sighed. “I had to give him something to purge the rest of the drugs out of his system, hence the smell.” He pointed to a bucket near the bed.

Treville’s nose twitched as a foul odor hit him. “So that’s what that was.” Uncomfortable as the question was he still had to pose it. “May I ask what’s happened to the Moreaus?”

“Bastille by now,” Porthos supplied. He actually could have cared less.

“Condition?” Treville wondered.

“Not a scratch on either of them but we didn’t give them time to dress. They may be finding the accommodations of the Bastille a bit chilly in only their blanket for cover,” Aramis snickered.

Walking inside the room his steps faltered slightly as Athos spotted Treville near d’Artagnan’s bedside.

“Athos, I hear you brought the Moreaus to the Bastille.” Treville began to feel concerned at the look his lieutenant sported.

Smiling slightly Athos glanced at Aramis. “I changed my mind. I took them to the Chatelet instead.” He heard Aramis’s muffled laughter and Porthos’s crowing.

“Mon dieu! That’s worse than the Bastille!” Torn between d’Artagnan’s health and keeping the peace with King Louis over the treatment of his friends, questionable though they may be, Treville threw up his hands. “Well an overnight stay won’t hurt them much. I’ll claim I had no knowledge of it. That there was some mix up.”

“At...Athos,” d’Artagnan managed to choke out in-between being sick in the bucket. “What’s been going on?”

“Oh dear,” Aramis muttered. “Who wants to do the honors, eh?”

“Count me out,” Porthos said gruffly.

“May as well be me,” Treville sat on the edge of the youngster’s bed and tried to explain all that had transpired from the end of the ball until now.

Feeling strong enough to sit up unaided, d’Artagnan gladly accepted a towel from Aramis and wiped his sweaty face and chest. “Most of my memories are pretty hazy,” he shrugged. “Thank heaven for small mercies I guess.” Glancing over at Athos who hovered near his side d’Artagnan did remember one odd detail. “You know they never bothered to ask me my name.”

“Wasn’t exactly top priority to them,” Porthos pointed out grimly.

“Captain,” d’Artagnan felt like he needed to throw up again as he leaned over looking for the bucket. Seeing Treville neatly jump off the bed to stand further away in case he missed nearly made d’Artagnan laugh if he could have. “If there are anymore balls in the future may I be exempt from them?” Then d’Artagnan lost the battle as he emptied the contents of his stomach... but not into the bucket.

“Mon dieu! My boots!” Captain Treville shouted as he looked down at them. Snapping his head back up he looked at d’Artagnan’s unhappy face and sighed. “It’ll wash, son.” 

“Seems like our captain didn’t jump far enough away, eh?” Athos whispered in d’Artagnan’s ear making their young one laugh for the first time in this whole nightmare.

“If you’re not careful, Athos, you may be next,” d’Artagnan grinned.

“Oh ho! Our pup’s back in fightin’ form,” Porthos laughed.

Surrounded by his brothers d’Artagnan should have realized that no matter what the fates have in store for him his friends would always come to his rescue.


End file.
